


When The Cold Winds Blow

by Queenofthebees



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Snow Queen Fusion, Angst, Disney rewrite, F/M, Fluff, Inspired by Frozen (2013), Jon and the Starks Are Not Related, Jon is Tormund's son, Magic, Sister love, Wildling Jon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-15
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2018-12-29 23:36:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12095904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queenofthebees/pseuds/Queenofthebees
Summary: Sansa couldn't understand why her sister could hardly stand to be in the same room as her anymore. They had been so close, hardly ever been apart, even at night when they would sneak into each other's chambers to giggle and cuddle up. She wanted it to be as it was between them, wanted everything to be as it was. And no matter how much Arya distanced herself, whatever secrets she had, they were sisters and Sansa would always protect her.Based on Frozen/The Snow Queen.





	1. Winter Fell

**Author's Note:**

> Almost finished the next chapter of "The Blood of Winterfell" and "The Little Bird Princess" but I really wanted to do this because I want some Sansa and Arya closeness!  
> And this is also part of the Jon/Sansa Disney/Fairytale rewrite challenge.  
> So Arya is Elsa, Sansa is Ana, Jon is Kristoff, Ghost is Sven, Lady is Olaf (but no talking unfortunately lol) Harry is Hans.  
> First chapter, Sansa is 7 and Arya 5, almost 6.

Arya frowned as she felt a hand on her shoulder, shaking her awake. She swatted the hand away, grumbling into her pillow and pulling her furs over her head.

“Arya, please!” came the soft voice and the weight of someone sitting down on her bed told her that her sister wasn’t going to leave. She rolled over, trying to glare but she ended up snorting at the giddy smile on Sansa’s face.

“Please!” Sansa whispered again, practically bouncing on the bed. “It is my nameday after all!”

Sansa was older than Arya by just over a year but when Arya’s powers had started to form, at just two years old, a curious Sansa had been unable to stay away. While their father and mother and brother Robb worried about what was happening, how Arya could have such powers, Sansa had told her sister that it was like something from Old Nan’s stories. She was too young to understand the dangers of magic or how Arya would be seen by others. To Sansa, Arya had these powers for good and she had ensured that Arya was made to feel accepted and special for this gift. As years passed, Arya had been so grateful that Sansa had not rejected her that, once her powers had grown, she had used them to create a direwolf made of snow for her sister. Sansa had squealed in excitement, had exclamed over the beauty and elegance of the sculpture. And had said if it had been a real wolf, she would have named it Lady. Arya had teased her, patting the wolf's head and crouching as if the next words came from the wolf itself. "Lady Sansa, I am your direwolf, Lady!"

“Oh I can’t possibly let my sweet sister down on her nameday,” Arya retorted with a grin as she kicked the sheets off. Sansa giggled but covered her mouth immediately in case they woke their brother Robb in the next room. Arya quickly dressed and shoved her feet into her boots before grabbing Sansa’s hand. They snuck out of the room, hands clasped and exchanging grins all the way through the corridor and down the stairs as they ran into the Great Hall of Winterfell.

Once there, Arya closed the door and Sansa moved the tables out of the way. For a moment, they looked at each other, grinning uncontrollably. Then, Arya stepped forward, her hands twirling as snow formed between them, her laughter echoing into the air as Sansa bounced on her toes in anticipation. Raising her hands, the snow started falling around the room, covering the floor in a light coating. Sansa clapped her hands and started twirling around in happiness. Arya smirked as she forged a snowball, aiming it right at Sansa’s shoulder. Her sister gasped, turning to her with a mock glare but it was meaningless when it was accompanied by her grin.

Arya laughed and turned to run as she saw Sansa crouch to grasp some snow of her own. Arya ran through the door to the kitchens with Sansa close behind. The snowball whizzed past her head , landing on the table with a soft splat. Arya stopped and turned around long enough to stick her tongue out in jest before she was running back through the other door, back into the snow-covered hall.

She pivoted quickly on the ice under her feet, racing towards the door that led outside. She never even spared a thought about it, having always been gifted with the powers of ice that she took it for granted. The harsh reality of her uniqueness crashed around her as she heard Sansa’s scream. She turned back quickly to check if she was alright.

But Sansa lay on her side on the cold floor, completely still. Arya raced up to her, a hand grabbing her sister’s shoulder and shaking roughly.

“Sansa. Sansa! This isn’t funny!” But Sansa remained still and her head was bleeding at her temple, just noticeable under her red hair. Arya choked at the sight, scrambling back in panic.

“Help! Help!” she screamed, jumping to her feet and looking around frantically. “Mother! Father!” She could feel tears coming and she dropped to Sansa’s side again, taking her hand in hers and the other placed in her hair.

She had started to cry when the door was thrown open and she looked up in shame as the light of her father’s candle lit her and Sansa to his gaze. Her mother appeared beside her father, her hand coming to her mouth to stifle a gasp before they both rushed to them.

“She will be alright, won’t she?” Arya said as her father scooped Sansa up in her arms. His expression was even more somber than usual and Arya started to cry again, believing she had killed her sister on her seventh nameday. He gave his daughter a weak smile.

"Maester Luwin will look at..." he began but her mother interrupted.

“We need to take her North,” she said firmly but she pulled Arya to her side and stroked her hair in comfort. “And there, she will be saved.”


	2. Kissed by Fire

He crouched low, one knee to the ground as his eyes caught the stag. He watched it silently, noting the direction it was moving in. Wordlessly, he raised a hand, motioning for his companion to come forward. Tormund grinned as he stepped silently beside Jon, arrow already nooked in his bow. He pulled his arm back tight and loosed. The stag crashed to the ground.

"Good job Jon," he said, clapping the boy's shoulder causing the boy to beam up at him. Jon was practicing his archery daily but he still wasn't great at moving targets. He was a good scout for his father though.

"Right lad, let us get home to skin this beast," said Tormund as he bent to lift the stag over his shoulder, leaving Jon to pick up his bow and quiver. Jon started following but stopped short just as they were about to cross the river. Frowning, he turned to the bushes that lined the river bank. He swore he had seen red on the snow, like two drops of blood, but now all he could see was white. Until...

"Father!" he called, moving towards the creature that was hidden in the snow and watching him with bright red eyes. He noticed the body of the mother by the riverside, a stag’s antler caught in her throat.

Tormund paused, looking back at his son with a frown. "What is it lad?"

Jon picked up the wolf cub and looked to his father, whose frown deepened. Wordlessly, Tormund put the carcass down and came over to Jon. He sighed as he looked at the pup and shook his head at Jon, already seeing the plea in his son's eyes.

"It will never survive lad," he said sadly.

"It could! One of the bitches has just given birth, I can feed it milk from her. Please father! It is a direwolf, a white direwolf. It has to be a gift from the Gods!"

Tormund sighed, knowing he was losing this particular battle. Jon huddled the pup close to his chest, adjusting his cloak so that it covered the poor beast and looked at his father again.  A direwolf was indeed a special creature, and a white one especially was highly regarded as it represented the North.

"Alright, but you'll be responsible for it, do you hear?"

"I'll look after it, I promise!"

Tormund nodded, lifting the stag once more while Jon fussed over the cub in his arms. The pup nuzzled against the fur in his cloak, perhaps remembering the comfort of his mother’s fur. Jon noted that it barely made a sound, even though it was doubtlessly hungry and scared.

“You’re like a ghost, aren’t you?” he mused. “That is what I’ll call you I think.” Tormund scoffed and shook his head but Jon ignored him.

They were approaching the camp when there was a horn blast and Tormund stopped, staring towards the keep that was to the right of them, visible from the woods they were hiding in. Jon stepped up beside him, peeking under Tormund’s arm to see what was going on. The wolf cub squirmed in Jon’s arms.

“What is it?” Jon asked, stepping closer to the edge of the forest. Tormund kicked his leg out to block Jon’s movements, glaring in response to Jon’s questioning stare.

“You don’t want to be seen by them,” he muttered, turning his glare towards the keep again. Jon said nothing, watching as riders approached the keep with banners depicting a grey direwolf on a white field of snow.

Tormund turned to leave, satisfied that there was no threat. The wolf pup stilled suddenly, his eyes alert and ears perked as he looked to the group that had just arrived. There was a man who carried a girl in his arms, the red hair cascading down over his arm. Jon blinked.

“Father,” he muttered, hearing Tormund pause. “The girl… she’s … she’s kissed by fire!”

Tormund appeared beside him again, glaring through the trees at the group. He gave a chuckle at the sight of the girl but it sounded bitter.

“Doesn’t look like she’s that lucky to me,” he returned but Jon was too caught up on what the group was doing. There was a woman too, her hair also a red colour and a young girl with brown hair, who was huddling close to the woman.

Jon unconsciously stepped closer to the edge of the forest, crouching behind a tree as he watched an elderly man emerged from the keep, his black cloak billowing in the breeze. He groped the wall as he approached and Jon realised that he was blind.  

“What can I do for you?” the elderly man asked with a voice that cracked from overuse.

“Maester Aemon, I am Lord Stark. We need your help. Our daughter Sansa has fallen on ice.”

“Is Winter here already?” the maester asked lightly. “I thought we were just coming into summer.”

“It was an accident,” the young girl sniffed. “I made it snow in the great hall and I ran over the ice without thinking about Sansa. She fell and hurt herself and when I tried to help her, the snow just got worse.”

“Oh? Were you born with the gift?” the maester asked, turning his head in the child’s direction.

“Yes,” Lord Stark said. Maester Aemon nodded slowly, his hands finding Sansa’s temple.

“I can give her a potion to stop the swelling. However, perhaps it would be best to make her forget about her sister’s powers. At least until she can control them better.”

“But Sansa loves my magic!” the girl said, gripping her mother’s hand. “You can’t take that away, please!”

“It is for the best child,” the maester said gently. “Your magic is a gift truly but without control it is a danger. And Sansa, bless her will only get hurt if she continues to indulge it this way. She doesn’t understand the dangers it presents and the next time an accident happens, there might not be anything we can do.”

 The girl gasped, grasping her mother’s hand tighter and the woman squeezed her shoulder in a comforting response, causing the girl to turn her head into her skirts, giving the briefest of nods followed by a choked sob.

“Bring her inside,” the maester said softly, turning back towards the keep. Jon slowly rose, looking at Tormund over his shoulder and giving him a small smirk.

“Guess she was kissed by fire after all.”

Tormund grunted in response but Jon caught the quirk of his father’s lips in amusement. Ghost started squirming again and Jon ruffled the fur around his neck to try and soothe him as he followed his father back to the camp.

***

Her eyes opened slowly and she frowned at the unfamiliar ceiling above her. She tried to sit up but felt gentle hands on her shoulders, gently pushing her back down into the pillows. She looked at her mother’s face, the relieved smile that graced her mouth.

“How do you feel sweetling?” she asked, brushing a hand to Sansa’s temple and pushing back her hair. Sansa frowned.

“I don’t remember what happened,” she said softly. “But my head hurts a bit.”

“Yes, Arya said you had a fall. We had to bring you North for some more expert care as you were in quite a bad shape.”

“Is Arya here?” Sansa asked, looking around. “Does she know that I’m alright? I don’t want her to worry.”

“Yes, don’t worry child. We will let her know that you are fine,” her mother responded and Sansa noted the sad tone in her mother’s voice before she continued. “Sansa, sweetling. Arya, well, she blames herself for your accident, so she might not be herself with you just now.”

“I am sure Arya knows how much I love her. And we will always be there for each other,” Sansa replied. Catelyn hummed, a small smile returning to her mouth.

“Yes, you will. You are sisters after all, you must always remember that,” her mother said, taking Sansa’s hand in her own. “Just like your father always says, sweetling. When the snow falls and the white winds blow.”

“The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives.”


	3. It hurts

It hurt.

It hurt that Arya barely looked at her when she came to see if she was alright, eyes cast to the floor and her voice low. And although Sansa had smiled at her sister and reassured her that she was not only perfectly fine but that she didn’t blame her at all, Arya had turned and left. And not returned to her the rest of the day as Sansa regained her strength,

 It hurt that Arya never spoke to her or even their parents as they began their long ride home, longer for the awkward silence that surrounded them. It was mid-summer now but inside, Sansa felt as though the harshest winter words were blowing right through her. The confusion of thinking she had upset her sister, the guilt that she may have done something wrong and the irritation with herself for not being able to figure out her sister and help her.

It was sheer agony.

They had never been apart really. From the moment Arya was born, Sansa had been there, charging into the room the moment the all-clear was given and peering at her sister’s face, swaddled in the grey blankets. She had taken direction from mother of how to touch Arya’s cheek gently and she had watched with fascination as mother fed and changed Arya. As Arya had grown, Sansa had taken on the role of an elder sister with pride. She would sneak into Arya’s chambers at night, when the winter was at its coldest point and they would curl together, like young cubs.

They would chase each other through the halls, much to their parents’ chagrin. They would team up against Robb, throwing snowballs at either side of him until he chased them and pulled them down into the snow to shove snow down their backs. And after, when they were sheepishly smiling by the fire as mother hung their wet clothes with a cluck of her tongue, Sansa would think of how Arya was the best sister in the world.

It hurt that her parents clearly knew something was wrong with Arya, given their shared looks and sideway glances at her sister. And the fact they wouldn’t tell Sansa made it even worse. Because she was Arya’s sister, her oldest and her only. She was meant to be there for her, to help her and protect her but her parents were not letting her do so.

It hurt that Robb came bounding across the courtyard and all but hauled her off her horse, clasping her close and murmuring his thanks to the Gods that she was alright. She caught Arya’s look of shame as she clambered down her own horse and by the time Robb had turned to Arya, she had disappeared into the stables, with her father following her closely.

And then, the final blow came.

Arya was to be moved to the other side of the castle and have a separate household. Sansa wailed as her father and mother told her the news, trying to get past them and to Arya’s room which were beside hers, should always be beside hers. But father had grabbed her waist gently and mother had curled a hand in her hair as they both knelt down in front of her.

“Arya didn’t mean it!” Sansa sobbed.

She couldn’t bear the thought of Arya being punished for hurting her because Arya would never hurt her on purpose. It had been an accident, Sansa was sure and she couldn’t even remember it anyway. For all she knew, she could have tripped and Arya may have just found her, in the wrong place at the wrong time.

“We know sweetling,” her mother cooed, hands stroking through her hair.

Sansa squirmed back and away because she didn’t want her mother. She wanted Arya! She remembered when she had fallen and ripped the new dress mother had made for her, how she had cried thinking of how much trouble she would be in. And Arya had come and clasped her hand and told her it would be alright. Sansa had been so upset at the time she had told Arya she was stupid and she had never forgiven herself for the betrayal in Arya’s eyes. She had spent all day sitting outside Arya’s chambers telling her she was sorry and that she was the bravest girl in the world and she loved her, so, so much.

“I want my sister!” she cried again, her chest heaving with the force of her sobs. Even Robb, who had always managed to comfort her in times of distress had irritated her to the point that he left quickly after her parents suggested so.

“I know,” her father explained sadly. “But for now, we need to keep Arya on that side of the castle. It isn’t a punishment, we just need to help her.”

“I want to help her,” Sansa said, eyes hard with determination. For the slightest moment, her father’s lips twitched.

“Aye, I know, my little she-wolf,” he replied fondly but the sadness was still there. He squeezed her shoulder, pressed a kiss to her temple. “But you can’t yet. Arya will need you soon but you must wait for now, alright?”

Sansa shook her head defiantly, shoving her father’s hand off her shoulders and moving for the door again. Her mother tightened her arm around her waist, bringing her back to her and shushing Sansa’s continued protests.

“It is not the right time,” Catelyn said softly. “We promise, it will be sorted soon and you can go back to playing your games and your pranks.”

“It is for Arya’s safety as well as ours and our peoples’. Arya will come to you when she is ready.”

Sansa had collapsed then, exhausted still from her injury, the ride and the added turmoil of being separated from her sister. She didn’t fight as her father picked her up and placed her in the bed, pulling the covers up. Sansa reached out towards the other pillow, already wondering when Arya’s head would lie there again.

She barely flinched when she heard her parents leave and the soft click in the lock. That hurt too, she thought bitterly. That it was not trusted that she wouldn’t seek Arya out herself. But it was also unnecessary anyway because Sansa knew that Arya would come and seek her out herself.

***

Arya did not come.

For weeks, Sansa continued asking for her but her parents and Robb insisted she was fine and not to worry. She would wander over to the other side of the castle, capturing glimpses of candlelight in the windows and wondering if Arya felt as lonely as she did.

Eventually, as the weeks turned into months and then years, Sansa gave up asking and she stopped walking by the other side of the castle. She was still incredibly lonely and bored though. Her younger brothers Bran and Rickon mostly played with themselves and Sansa could barely keep up with them on the rare occasions they asked her to play with them. And Robb was all but a man now, following father around to meet the bannermen and learning to take on more and more duties. So, Sansa spent most of her time sewing with her mother or reading in her chambers. Her stories were her only great love left, an escape from the acknowledgment that her parents were too busy, Robb too distracted and Bran and Rickon too young to pay much notice to her.

It hurt too much to think of Arya and how she still never knew what she had done to cause such indifference from her sister.


	4. The Lone Wolf

"Arya, Sansa is awake."

The snowflake she had been floating above her palm fell into her hand as she turned to her father.

"Is she alright?"

"She doesn't remember the accident," her father replied. "Or your magic."

Arya nodded slowly, turning to look out of the window again. Every memory with Sansa was involved with her magic somehow. Sansa had loved it and Arya had indulged. But now her sister had been harmed, Arya knew she couldn't use her powers around Sansa again. She would never forgive herself if she harmed her sister again. Or worse.

"You should go and see her," her father said. "She is worried about you."

Arya choked back her bitter laugh. Of course, only Sansa could get hurt and worry about others instead of herself. She nodded again at her father’s words and promised to go and visit her sister. Arya had always been fearless but for the first time she was afraid. She feared that things would never be the same between her and Sansa, that she would no longer have a sister. Until she learned to control these powers, she couldn’t risk Sansa’s safety, she wouldn’t.

***

She had never felt so ashamed as the moment they entered Winterfell and Robb rushed to Sansa. While their brother clutched at Sansa in relief, Arya had dismounted and made for the stables, unseen. She couldn’t bare the accusations.

She went to her room and barred the door. For the first time in her life, Arya cried as she sank to the floor. She only stopped when she heard the soft knock on the door and Robb’s soft voice calling through the wood, asking if she was alright.

“Arya, I don’t blame you,” he said. “I love you, you know that right? I never meant to make you feel bad out there.”

Eventually, Arya had opened the door, collapsing in her brother’s arms as he held her. She told Robb of how she feared Sansa and her would no longer be close. Robb had shushed her, insisting that Sansa would always love her. But Arya knew now how dangerous her powers were and she couldn’t bare the thought of hurting Sansa.

“I need to control it,” she said with determination. Her parents exchanged nervous looks but Arya persisted. “I want to be alone until I am sure I can’t hurt anyone.”

“Arya,” her mother whispered, her pain so obvious as she reached for her daughter but Arya twisted away. She didn’t deserve her mother’s pity when she had almost killed her sister. It didn’t matter how her parents or Robb insisted it wasn’t her fault, Arya couldn’t forgive herself.

“Please,” Arya pleaded. “Until I know I won’t hurt her, I can’t be around her. Please!”

Her father had still been reluctant but had accepted that if they didn’t make a separate area for her in Winterfell, Arya would just run away. He had rightly decided that separating her within the keep was better than letting her run into the wilderness.

Her chambers were modest but she didn’t care. She didn’t need much and wanted even less. All she wanted was to control these powers and return to her family. Her parents and Robb visited, letting her know how Sansa was and when her mother had Bran and Rickon, Arya heard all about them too. When the boys were old enough, Robb brought them to her so they could chat with their sister. The Starks insisted that they never wanted Arya to be forgotten, even if they couldn’t tell her siblings why she was separated from them. Arya only agreed to contact through the closed door, peering at her brothers through the bars of the window.

Robb and her parents often told her of Sansa too. They would talk of how beautiful she was and how she had become a talented dancer and seamstress. Arya had been happy that Sansa had grown, happy she had found something other than magic to keep her amused.  But the sadness was there too for this was what she had feared. Without her magic, Arya was beginning to realise she would no longer know how to talk to or act around her sister. And so, while she agreed to see her little brothers, who knew nothing of her powers, she would not mention Sansa. She couldn’t bare the disappointment of knowing she had ruined their bond.

And as the years went by, Arya knew it would only become harder to rebuild any relationship with her sister. But, as embarrassed as she was to admit it, she was too afraid to make the first move. And so, she remained in her tower, listening to how the world was changing through the closed door of her chambers.

***

“Why do you have to go?” she asked, head pressed against the wood of her door.

“It is your Aunt’s wedding,” her father replied. “Your mother’s sister. We must make an appearance.”

“I can’t do this alone,” Arya said, hand pressed against the door. _I can’t face them alone. I need you and mother and Robb. I am not strong enough, I’m not brave enough._

“Arya,” her father whispered through the wood. “You must speak with Sansa. Please my little wolf. You must.”

“I can’t!” Arya repeated, her eyes burning with tears. _I can’t control it. I cannot hurt her again._

“When the snow falls and the white wind blows,”

Arya closed her eyes, forcing her tears back. “The lone wolf dies but the pack survives.”

“You will be fine, my brave girl.”

Arya had opened the door then, allowed her father to scoop her up in his arms as she buried her face in her neck. She had so wanted to believe that things would be alright. Her father had always made her feel as though everything would be alright.

Her mother had come along the corridor then, joining in their hug. She had said the same as her father, insisting that when they returned they would talk about reuniting Arya with Sansa. Arya had her doubts but she knew her mother especially never backed down when she had an idea in her head. And when Robb had insisted too, Arya had known it was a losing battle.

When they had left, Arya had closed the door, looking around hopelessly at the icicles that hung from the ceiling and the snow that covered the floor and furniture. She had agreed to meet Sansa again when her parents and Robb returned but in truth, she had dreaded it. Her powers were still uncontrollable and she didn’t know how she could ever explain to Sansa what had happened. Things couldn’t be as they were and that was what scared Arya the most. She loved Sansa, loved her so fiercely and still, she knew she couldn’t guarantee that she wouldn’t hurt her.

***

When the raven arrived, Arya had howled, the room covered in ice as her own body went numb with grief.

Her parents and Robb were dead.

Bran was heir to Winterfell but Sansa was to be crowned Queen Regent.

Arya tried to believe that things would be alright even if deep down she had known all along how things would always go wrong.

Even when she heard Sansa on the other side of her door, her voice older and wiser than the child Arya had known so long ago. Even as Sansa had pleaded with her to come out, had insisted that they stick together and that she loved her, even after all those years apart. It made no difference.

Arya still knew she was the lone wolf


	5. We are Starks

She stared at her reflection, hand trailing down the grey silk of her dress. She hated wearing the dress, hated how confined and powerless it made her feel.

Just like her powers.

Arya swallowed thickly. Grey was a Stark colour, it was the colour of her eyes, of father’s eyes. It was the colour of the direwolf. She was a wolf, a lone wolf perhaps but one all the same. She could be brave and powerful and fearless.

Sansa needed her to look the part today.

It was the day her sister was going to be crowned Queen Regent, the legal guardian of Bran and Rickon until Bran came of age to succeed Robb. Sansa would need support to deal with the Lords who would barter for her favour. She could still hear her father’s words in her ears.

_You may be as different as the sun and the moon, but the same blood flows through both your hearts. You need her, as she needs you.”_

She missed her parents and Robb. There were still days where she thought it had just been a nightmare, that her father would come and tell her things were going to be okay, that her mother would hug her and that Robb would tell her about Sansa and her brothers.

Sansa came to her door often nowadays but Arya still hadn’t seen her since that fateful day when she had asked to be removed from the main castle area. Arya hated to be scared and powerless but Sansa made her feel that way, no matter how much she didn’t mean to. Because talking to Sansa, the thought of seeing Sansa reminded Arya of what her powers had done to her sister. And then that reminded her of how she couldn’t control her powers, which made her more scared and angry and in turn made her powers even more unpredictable.

She hated it.

A soft knock came to the door, followed by Jeyne Poole’s voice calling through the wood.

“Lady Arya, are you ready to attend the feast?”

Arya inhaled sharply.

_I am a Stark. I can be brave._

She exhaled.

“I’ll be right down.”

***

“Lady Sansa?”

Sansa turned, her blue skirts billowing around her feet. She smiled at the blonde man in front of her, eyes falling to the red and white checked pin on his doublet, the moon and falcon sigil of House Arryn displayed on another side of his clothes. She recognised the other sigil of House Hardyng, which would mean this young man was…

“Harold Hardyng,” she greeted, dropping into a flawless curtsey. He grinned, taking her hand and placing a gentle kiss upon it. Sansa felt her cheeks flush. He was charming, like a prince from her stories.

“I had heard tales of your beauty my lady but they do not do you justice,” he said softly. “Please, call me Harry.”

“And you may call me Sansa,” she replied kindly, finally taking her hand from his. “I…I need to sort a few last-minute things out for the feast but please, drink and eat and dance.”

She gave a nervous laugh as he smiled warmly at her. Her face was warm, her heart fluttering uncontrollably as she went into the kitchens to check on the progress of the food. Harry was so handsome.

“Hello Sansa.”

She turned at the voice, her breath catching in her throat at the sight of Arya in the doorway of the kitchen. She looked much the same as the five-year-old girl Sansa had known so long ago, the same dark brown hair but instead of the wild, untameable locks, they were pulled back into a Northern hairstyle, the bun sitting at the back of her head and her hair falling smoothly down her back. Her grey eyes, father’s eyes, were watching her closely. They weren’t the same mischievous, happy glint that she had once known, they were watching her with caution. They stared at each other for a moment, ignoring the puttering of the people around them and then Sansa caved, rushing towards her sister and pulling her close to her. She sighed in relief when she felt Arya’s arms fold around her in return.

“Gods Arya, I have missed you!” she said, feeling the tears burning her eyes and already trailing down her cheeks.

“I missed you too,” Arya replied softly but she moved back, pushing Sansa away as gently as possible. Sansa frowned.

“Arya, what is the matter? Why have you spent all this time away from me?” Sansa asked.

“I..I needed to,” her sister replied, avoiding her eyes. She looked over Sansa then. “Your dress is pretty.”

Sansa looked down, the wolf she had stitched on her chest more prominent in ever in the candlelight. She smiled to herself, looking back at her sister.

“I made it myself,” she said proudly before gesturing to Arya. “You look pretty too. I can’t believe you are wearing a pretty dress.”

“Yeah well, it is an important day,” Arya said with a small shrug. “Don’t expect it to happen again.”

“It means a lot to me,” Sansa replied, kissing her sister’s forehead. “I need to go and make sure things are going well out there. I can’t wait to spend time with you Arya!”

“Me too,” Arya murmured but Sansa was too caught up to catch the nervousness in her sister’s voice.

***

Arya stared at the cutlery in front of her, her hands wringing together under the table. Rickon was screaming and Sansa was trying to comfort him. He had been like this ever since their parents and Robb had been gone. Bran smiled softly at Arya but he had also been withdrawn since the tragedy. And Arya was beginning to realise that she didn’t know her brothers that well, despite Robb and their parents’ attempts to keep Arya close to the family.

Sansa wasn’t the same girl Arya had once known. Part of her had always known things would be different but the little girl inside of her had still so wanted it to be the same. That Sansa would be the fearless, impulsive girl she had once known. That things would still be the same between them.

But Sansa was a Lady now, a Queen in name if not in right.  She no longer cared about running around the grounds chasing her siblings, she cared about running a household and her Kingdom. She no longer cared about building snow wolves or snow castles, she cared about building alliances and making pretty clothes.

Arya didn’t hate Sansa for having a talent, for finding things she loved. She hated how it left her feeling more of an outcast than ever.

She watched silently as a blonde man approached Sansa and Rickon, dimples showing in his cheeks as he knelt in front of Rickon. Sansa’s cheeks coloured a soft pink and her eyes lowered demurely. Arya’s own eyes narrowed upon the scene. There was something not right about this.

The man whispered to Rickon and the boy stopped crying enough to blink in confusion at him. The blonde man rose, taking Sansa’s hand in his own and pressing a kiss to her lips. Sansa positively beamed at the attention, her cheeks colouring a deeper shade when he asked her to dance. Arya felt the sparks between her fingers as Sansa was led into the middle of the floor.

***

Sansa smiled up at Harry as he curled his hand around her waist and pulled her close to him. She placed her own hands on his shoulder and around his waist, letting him sway them from side to side. And when he twirled her, she couldn’t contain her happiness, the laughter bubbling out and echoing around the hall. The Lords and Ladies were smiling and laughing and dancing, the music bringing life to them all again. This was what she had wanted all these years, she wanted to have laughter and happiness to return to her home and to her family.

“I have been thinking,” Harry said slowly, biting his lip as he looked around.

“Oh?” she grinned up at him.

“You are a beautiful young woman Sansa and I know how loyal the Northerners are,” he began. She blinked up at him when he pulled her back to him, her hands gripping his shoulders for purchase. “But, have you thought about an alliance to strengthen Bran and Rickon’s position?”

“Oh I…” Sansa started, frowning in confusion. How could she have not thought about something so important?

“Don’t worry honey,” Harry crooned, his hand coming up to push the hair from her face. His eyes dropped to her lips. “After everything that you have been through, it is something so easy to forget about.”

“Thank you,” Sansa returned, smiling gratefully.

“You are an amazing woman,” he said and Sansa ducked her head at the compliment, her blush intensifying at his flattery. “How strong you are and how you have brought all this joy to Winterfell.”

“Thank you,” she said again.

“Any man would be lucky to have you,” Harry grinned as the song ended, their faces so close and Sansa thought he might kiss her, she wanted him to.

The Hardyngs were related to her cousin Robert Arryn who was Lord of the Vale, which had one of the biggest armies in Westeros. She prayed she would never need an army but the Vale was a good allegiance to have. And Harry wasn’t awful to look at, he was rather handsome. And he was nice, he thought she was capable of ruling.

“Are you betrothed?” she asked, feeling the nerves kicking in. His lips curved.

“I am not,” he replied softly.

“Well, I am not either…obviously…you know because you brought it up,” she said, giving a nervous laugh. His smile widened.

“Sansa,” he whispered. She blinked at him. “Would you marry me?”

***

Arya didn’t like the way the man was being with her sister. His hands lingered too long on her waist, his face danced to close to hers. Arya didn’t know why but it bothered her. She may have spent years in isolation but she had heard from Robb and her parents how Sansa had gotten caught up in her stories, how she longed for a knight or a prince to make her a wife and go and live in his keep. Arya wanted Sansa to be happy but she didn’t want her sister’s naivety to be taken advantage of, and this man…there was something about him that Arya didn’t trust.

She blinked as Sansa came back to the table, clutching the man’s hand. Her sister had a giddy smile on her face and Arya was already clutching the chair arm tightly, the wood turning to ice beneath her fingers. She quickly returned them to her lap before anyone noticed.

“Arya,” Sansa said, barely biting back a smile. “Bran, Rickon. Harry and I have something to tell you!”

Her brothers looked at her in interest as Sansa and the man, Harry grinned at them. Arya felt her heart pounding in suspense.

“We’re getting married!” Sansa chimed, pulling her arm through Harry’s as they exchanged grins again.

Their brothers congratulated her while Arya blinked. “Excuse me?”

“We arranged a betrothal,” Sansa replied, her smile faltering in the wake of Arya’s dumbstruck expression.

“Why?” Arya countered with a bemused shrug. Sansa stepped back in shock.

“Because…because…”

“You can’t love him,” Arya continued. “You just met.”

“I could love him!” Sansa returned hotly. “And Harry is sweet and kind. Why can’t you be happy for me?”

“Why?” Arya yelled, standing in her anger. The music stopped as everyone turned their attention to the high table. Arya glanced at the table, moving her hands quickly before her powers reached her fingers and the dark frost covered the surface. “Because if you marry him you will go south. And I suppose that is all that matters to you!”

Sansa gaped as she passed her taking a moment to register what Arya had said. And then she moved, crossing the floor and taking Arya’s arm. Arya tensed, fear rising in her at the fact that her anger was almost boiling over. If Sansa pushed her, if she didn’t get out of here, she would…she would…

“How dare you talk to me like that?” Sansa hissed. “You avoid me for eleven years and then think you can tell me what to do? I am older than you anyway!” Arya rolled her eyes and turned away, she had to get back to her room, away from this drama before someone got hurt..

“And she is your Queen,” Harry added as Sansa reached for her.

“Don’t talk to me!” Arya snarled at him her arm twisting away from Sansa and leaving a trail of ice in its wake.

For a moment, there was silence. Sansa had barely managed to step back in time, her wide-eyes blinking in shock. And Arya curled her hands around her as she glanced around at the shocked and frightened faces before her. It reminded her of that fateful day when Sansa had been hurt. The memory caused a choked sob to rise and she turned quickly, wrenching the door open and disappearing into the night.


	6. Let It Go

"Arya!" Sansa cried, immediately starting to chase after her sister, deftly dodging Harry’s arms as he reached for her.

"She is a witch!" one of the Lords cried out.

"No wonder Lord Eddard hid her away!" came another Lord’s voice. "She is a danger to us all!"

"My sister is not dangerous!" Sansa snapped, pausing briefly in the doorway to level a glare at those Lords daring to talk of her sister in such a way.

“You disrespect the North’s princess,” Harry snarled at the room in disgust and Sansa smiled gratefully as she turned and started to run again, cursing her dress and shoes for restricting her movements. How had Arya been able to run so fast? She wondered just before she caught the sight of Arya’s abandoned shoes lying in the corridor. She could see ice glittering along the floor, a path that lead towards the the great oak doors which led into the courtyard. The doors were covered in ice too she noticed as she ran through them.

She gasped as she stepped outside, the winds blasting into her so hard it caused her to take a step back, her feet spreading apart to anchor her against the force. There was snow falling heavily, ice all across the ground, lying like a spilled drink that had spread across the stones. Icicles were hanging from all the surrounding towers, the sky a stormy grey, filled with more threating snows.

And the people were cowering away in fear as Arya mounted her mare.

"Arya, wait!" Sansa yelled over the howling wind, trying to descend the steps quickly but feeling her feet sliding, forcing her to grip the stone wall for support as she moved. "Arya, please!”

“Stay away from me Sansa!” Arya cried out, kicking her horse into action and steering it towards the keep’s gates.

“Arya, please don’t go!” Sansa bellowed as she reached the bottom of the stairs at last. “You don’t have to run away!”

But her sister was already out of the gates and disappearing into the snowstorm that she had conjured around them.

***

Arya rode until North, not daring to look back. She could still hear Sansa’s voice in her head, calling after her but she couldn’t bring herself to look back at her sister. For all her crying out that Arya didn’t have to run, Arya didn’t believe her. Wasn’t Sansa going to abandon her home too, marrying Harold Hardyng and going south? Arya had lost control and now she had probably pushed the last of her family away. How would they ever look at her again, knowing she was a monster, a dangerous and untameable beast?

There was no point going home if there was no pack for her.

She stopped when she found a small shop where she traded her horse and dress for boots, breeches, a tunic and a winter cloak. She had never felt the cold really but she did not want to stay in this dress, she needed new clothes and it was all the shop had available. She changed in the woods, returning the dress to the shop before continuing on her way.

She wasn’t sure if Sansa would send people after her, she doubted it after her display. Her sister would be so ashamed of her. Perhaps she was even telling Bran and Rickon right now just what a monster their runaway sister was.

She was a lone wolf, a true lone wolf now. She had turned on her family, had almost hurt Sansa again, after all this time of trying to protect her and her younger brothers. She couldn’t go back, she _wouldn’t_.

As she made her way further north, the cold winds and the snow gave her a sense of calm. This was where she belonged, here she could be herself and be free with no worry of hurting anyone. She could use her powers instead of hiding them away.

She twirled her hand, the snow dancing before her as it took its shape. She recognised the wolf shape as it started to form, a mournful sigh escaping her in a cloud of breath. She dropped her hand, shaking her head slightly at the sight of the wolf she had made.

It seemed even now, she couldn’t get rid of her family. They haunted her even here.

Arya turned around then, determination coursing through her as she concentrated with all her might. The ground trembled slightly as she pushed her energy into her powers, allowing them to raise the snow up and ice to flow from her fingertips. Higher and higher the snow rose and as she spread her arms out, the snow spread along too until a large ice wall stood before her. Arya let her arms drop as she craned her neck to look.

Nobody will ever find me now, she thought before she turned and continued further North.

***

“My Lady, with all due respect, you should not go after Lady Arya,” Maester Luwin said gently.

“I thank you for your concern,” Sansa replied as she pulled on her gloves and started to push her feet into her winter boots. “But she is my sister and I do not trust anyone else to bring her home safe.”

“She may hurt you,” Harry piped up, giving her arm a gentle squeeze as he knelt beside her. Sansa shook her head, pulling her arm from his grasp.

“Arya would never hurt me.”

“She almost killed you in the hall!” Harry reminded her but Sansa just shook her head harder as she laced up her boots.

“An accident,” she insisted. “I know my sister. I know she needs me and I will bring her home where she belongs. Maester Luwin, would you bring Ser Rodrik to me please?”

“Ser Rodrik?” Harry questioned as the maester left. Sansa stood, moving to grab her cloak.

“Yes, he is to take care of the Kingdom and my brothers in my absence,” she explained.

“I could be Regent,” Harry replied, giving her a charming smile. Sansa grinned, moving to give his cheek a kiss.

“You are kind to want to help but with all due respect my lord, you are not a Northerner. I need somebody aware of the way our Kingdom works.”

“Of course,” he said easily, his smile widening. “I shall learn all I can from Ser Rodrik. Assuming you do not mind me sitting with him in meetings and such?”

“I do not see why not,” she replied as Maester Luwin returned with Ser Rodrik. Sansa smiled kindly at the men who had helped her since her parents and Robb died. She gestured for them to sit down at her desk and then she herself went to sit on her bed. She clasped her hands together, laying them demurely on her lap as she took a breath for courage.

“I will be going after my sister. There will be no discussion on that,” she started, giving every man a stern look before she looked down at her hands, taking another breath to calm herself. “In my absence, I ask you Ser Rodrik and Maester Luwin to watch over my brothers.”

“As you wish my lady,” Ser Rodrik replied with a bow of his head. Luwin still looked troubled.

“At least take a guard with you, my lady,” he insisted gently but Sansa shook her head.

“I cannot risk scaring Arya with guards. And there is nobody I trust to not harm her or arrest her. And then it will all be for naught. She needs to trust me again, she needs to see that I will not give up on her. The lone wolf dies but the pack survives. She is a part of this pack, no matter what powers she has, she is a Stark, she belongs in Winterfell with her family.”

She stood then wrapping her cloak around her and making her way to the courtyard. The snow had not cleared at all, the skies were still a stormy grey and Sansa stared up at it, resisting the desire to shiver and cower, to run and hide under her blankets. She closed her eyes and took a long breath, the exhale misting in front of her as she opened her eyes once more.

_I am a Stark, I can be brave._

She led her favourite mare out into the courtyard, giving the creature a handful of oats to sweeten her as the stable boys got her prepared for the journey ahead. Snow was starting to fall again, she could feel it melting in her hair before she pulled the hood over her head and allowed the stable boy to help her onto her mare.

It could take a long time to find her sister, she knew that. And as the gates opened, her hands clenched in the reins as she tried to calm herself. Arya needed her, her sister was alone and scared and thinking Sansa no longer wanted her. She would find her, no matter what it took. She would be brave and travel to every keep in the North, look in every cave even if it took months of searching.

_The lone wolf dies but the pack survives._

“I’m bringing you home Arya,” she whispered as she gently squeezed the mare’s side and rode out of the keep.


	7. The Stranger in the Woods

Sansa gripped the reigns of her horse tighter as she stared around the surrounding trees. She had hoped to pass through the forest before dark but her horse had been spooked by the sounds, moving slowly and warily. Sansa had allowed the slow pace but now, as darkness started to fall, she concluded that she needed to find somewhere to take shelter.

She placed a hand on her mare’s neck, trying to remain calm for the sake of the beast. She tried to ignore the racing beat of her heart as she glanced around once more, desperately trying to find anything recognisable that could help her figure out which way to go.

It was then that she caught a flash of movement, her eyes darting across the gaps of the trees as she tried to see what it had been. The horse shifted nervously, a soft whine escaping. She patted at her neck again, shushing gently.

And then, the wolf stepped out, head raised and staring directly at her.

The horse took a few steps back and Sansa swallowed and exhaled, her breath escaping in a cloud of mist. Still, the wolf made no move towards her, its red eyes just staring. And then, to Sansa’s astonishment, it sat on his hunches and tilted its head.

“Ghost!”

Sansa turned at the sound of the voice, her hood falling at the movement and allowing her braid to fall down her left shoulder. A man stepped out of the shadows, his grey eyes widening as they fell upon her and then a deep frown appearing between them.

“A lady shouldn’t be out here alone,” he greeted her gruffly, glancing at the wolf.

“I am Princess Sansa of House Stark,” she replied, watching in fascination as the wolf turned and bumped its head against the man’s hand as though it were just a normal pup.

“That’s nice,” he said, not even looking at her as he knelt before the beast. Sansa bristled, the mare jostling slightly from the sudden grip on the reigns.

“Might I have your name?” she asked. He smirked as he looked up at her, his hand buried in the fur of the wolf.

“No.”

Sansa gaped, frowning in confusion and indignation as he rose and began walking away, the wolf bounding up to his side. She glared at his back before tugging the reigns of the horse to turn it around.

“That isn’t the way to the nearest town,” his voice called and she turned her head to see him leaning against a tree, watching her. He shoved off, jerking his shoulder in a come-hither command and Sansa glanced around her once more. The man had been rude, she felt and she didn’t want to be around him after that. But, he clearly knew the forest and this area, he was the best chance she had at finding somewhere safe to rest. Perhaps, he would even know where Arya would go.

“I am looking for my sister,” Sansa said. “Have you seen her? A young girl of fifteen, brown hair and grey eyes, about this tall!”

The man glanced at her hand as she held it out to indicate Arya’s height and then back at her before he slowly shook his head.

“I wouldn’t have been able to see her in the storm last night even if I had been out here,” he replied with a shrug.

“Storm?” she repeated, trying not to sound as gleeful as the word had made her as she cast another glance at the snow on the ground and glistening on the trees. In the middle of summer, it could only mean that Arya was just hours ahead of her.

“Aye, snow everywhere,” he muttered, frowning at the white powder at his feet. He looked up at her again, folding his arms in impatience. “So, are you planning on sleeping out in the wilderness or are you coming to the town?”

“I would rather not travel with someone who I don’t know,” she replied, still annoyed at his earlier snub. He chuckled, shrugging slightly.

“Jon.”

“I’m sorry?”

“My name,” he clarified, his lips twitching into half a smile. “Jon.”

“Oh,” she replied dumbly.

“And I would rather not leave you out here alone,” Jon continued, casting a glance up at the sky where darkness was slowly creeping in. The moon and a handful of stars could already be seen. It wouldn’t be much longer before night was fully upon them.

Her eyes fell upon the wolf, _Ghost,_ once more and she finally took in its size.

“You have a direwolf!” she gasped. Jon looked to his companion briefly and then back to her.

“And?”

“The direwolf is the sigil of House Stark,” she explained, her eyes still fixed upon the beast. Ghost raised his head slightly, as though accepting her scrutiny. She smiled, feeling comforted by the wolf’s presence. She looked back to Jon, giving him a small nod. “Very well Ser, lead the way.”

“I’m no Ser,” he replied, even as he moved to take the reigns and guide her horse forward. “I am no knight or prince or whatever else you ladies fawn over.”

“I do not fawn over anyone!” Sansa said indignantly, glaring at the back of his head. He shrugged, casting her a glance over his shoulder.

“No?” he asked and Sansa pursed her lips in annoyance at the teasing tone hidden beneath his deep voice.

“No,” she sniffed, turning her head from him to try and compose herself. “My fiancée is very handsome but I don’t…”

“I’m sure your people will benefit greatly from such a trait.”

“You are incredibly rude,” she snapped, glaring at him once more.

“Apologies my lady,” he replied, inclining his head and sweeping into a bow.

 “Your Highness,” she corrected, feeling petty but her anger continued to rise as his lips twitched. “And for your information, he has made quite an impression in the last two days.”

“What has he done?” Jon asked, for once sounding genuinely intrigued.

“Well, nothing,” Sansa said slowly and Jon frowned up at her briefly before returning his eyes to the path. “He only came to Winterfell two days ago.”

“So…” Jon started and then, after a few seconds of silence, he began to chuckle. “You’ve only known him for two days?”

“And?” she retorted, feeling her cheeks heat up in embarrassment as he continued to chuckle to himself.

“And,” he mimicked, gifting her a smirk. “You’re going to marry someone you have only known for two days! How is that supposed to be a happy union?”

“It happens all the time,” she replied. “My own parents had such a marriage and they were incredibly happy.”

“Did they make the match for you?”

“No, they…they died at sea along with my older brother.”

“I’m sorry.”

The forest parted ahead of them, giving way to the valley and there, ahead she could see the torches of a small village. She exhaled in relief at the sight, looking forward to a warm bath and a soft bed. Perhaps the inn keeper had seen Arya, or at least heard of her.

“Thank you for helping me,” she said as he let go of the reigns. He paused a few steps ahead of her, casting her a confused glance over his shoulder.

“I’ll be staying here too,” he grinned. “I have a long journey North myself, in order to get back home.”

“Oh.”

They continued down the hill towards the village when an idea suddenly came to her. If he was going further north as well, then perhaps he could accompany her for a time. True, he lacked social etiquette to the point of annoyance for her but he was clearly knowledgeable of the area and two eyes were better than one. Plus, that wolf of his may be useful for protection.

“Perhaps we can travel together for a while then,” she suggested. He made an amused sound and she could see his lips curving upwards even as he kept his head ahead and refused to look at her.

“Would your future husband be happy about that?”

“Why would he not be?” she sniffed. “Are you going to take me for yourself?”

Jon laughed, the deep sound echoing in the night around them. And when he turned to her, she could see the white gleam of his teeth, a wolfish smile, she thought vaguely.

“Don’t you know Princess?” he murmured, stepping up close enough to her horse to be able to place a hand on the beast’s neck, his eyes glittering up at her. “We wildlings are renowned for stealing our women.”


	8. The Snow Queen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I've been AWOL for a bit. Real life has been hectic and then I had no motivation to write after my exams. But I should be sort of back again over the next couple of days with a few new one-shots and updates. Working on a few here and there :)

He was used to waking with the sun, ready for the day. And it seemed sharing space with a pretty young woman had given him even less sleep than usual.

The inn had been almost full, with only one room left. Jon had immediately stated that he would take the floor. His father had always told him to be kind to women. Besides, Jon was used to sleeping on the forest floor sometimes but he doubted Sansa could say the same. She had refused at first, of course. It was hardly proper after all for a wildling boy to sleep in the same room as a princess. But when the innkeeper had once again explained there was no alternative, her need for sleep had won out and she had accepted his offer.

It wasn’t that she had done anything particularly annoying that had kept him up in the night. He was just unused to being around nobility, much less a noble lady. Ghost seemed to have no such problems, curling against his back and snoring almost as soon as he lay his head down.

His wolf shifted slightly as Jon sat up and stretched his arms above his head. Stifling a yawn behind one hand, he reached over with the other and rubbed Ghost’s head affectionately.

“Keep her warm,” he commanded softly, tilting his head towards the bed where Sansa was still sleeping. Ghost gave a small huff of acknowledgment before rising to his feet. He padded over to the bed and leapt up, causing Sansa to give a sleepy whine.

Jon stepped out of the room and down the corridor, hoping to get some food from the innkeeper for their continued journey. Although, he felt it would be better for Sansa to return to her home and betrothed. The North was a wild place, and got wilder the further north one ventured. It was certainly no place for a Princess.

He felt sorry for Sansa. He had no siblings of his own but he figured he would be protective of them if he had had any. But it didn’t seem as though her sister wished to be found. And as such, he would insist he took her back home.

She was awake when he returned with bread and cheese to break their fast, Ghost laying by her side. The sight made him pause. They looked as though they belonged together.

Sansa smiled softly at him, her hand running across Ghost’s head as his wolf yawned and his eyes drooped shut.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“Oh, it isn’t much,” he replied, glancing down at the food in his hands.

“Not for that,” she said. “I mean, yes, thank you for breakfast. But, also, for your chivalry. For the bed and for Ghost’s warmth. You are sweet for a…” She paused suddenly, her cheeks flushing pink.

He felt his lips turn upward. “A wildling,” he finished for her, his smile truer now as she bit her lip in embarrassment. “You can say it.”

“I’m sorry,” she said sincerely, her eyes boring into his so he could have no doubt that she meant the words. “Its just, I have always been told to be wary of wildlings.”

“Rightly so,” he replied, finally moving to place the plate of food on the bedside cabinet. “Especially with your red hair.”

Her brow creased adorably as she looked at him again. “My hair?” she repeated, reaching to tug on the end of her braid, glancing at the auburn strands in curiosity.

“Red hair is considered lucky amongst the wildlings,” he explained with a shrug.  She dropped her hair then and grinned at him.

“You’re making that up,” she teased, reaching forward to take a piece of bread when Jon offered the plate to her.

“No, really. We consider those with red hair to be lucky.”

“If I’m so lucky, why can’t I find my sister?”

“About that,” he said, scratching the side of his nose nervously. “Um, I actually think you should go home.”

Her smile was gone instantly, replaced by a cold look that made him duck his head away from her. If looks could kill, he thought vaguely.

“I’m not going home without my sister,” she said, voice low with determination. Jon sighed, pushing to stand from the bed.

“Do you know where she is now?” he asked, gesturing around the room wildly in frustration. “I have no idea who she is and you have no idea where she is. She could be anywhere. And it only gets more dangerous the further north you go. Wildlings are the least of your worries, Princess. If a direwolf is hungry or a mammoth is frightened and charging there is nothing you can do to stop them coming for you. Add to that, the men rejected from wildling groups, cast out to fend for themselves. They would take you the moment they saw you.”

She stared at him for a long moment. He regretted the harsh words when he saw the fear in her eyes and the way her bottom lip trembled as she looked down at her hands in her lap, the bread still held between her fingers.

“And,” she began softly, her voice hitching slightly before she composed herself with a swallow. “And you think I would leave my sister in such circumstances?”

He pressed his lips together firmly, stopping himself from blurting that it would make no sense for both her sister and Sansa to be killed. Instead, he turned away from her and ran a hand through his hair as he exhaled harshly.

“I can’t guarantee that I can protect you,” he said after a moment, turning to look at her then.

“You’re not responsible for me,” she replied. “You hardly know me.”

“Maybe not,” he agreed. “But when you don’t come home after a time, what will be the first thing your brothers would order? What would your betrothed do if he suspected you were dead? Who would he blame, Princess? This isn’t just about you and your sister. You’re putting my people in danger too.”

She lowered her head with a slow nod, her chest heaving with a deep breath. “I know I’m being selfish,” she agreed.

Jon felt his annoyance leave him as he regarded her. He had always been told to be wary of these southerners, that they cared for nothing but themselves. The wildlings had lost lands to them before, had lost woman too. Blood had been shed for decades upon decades for the wildlings to be able to have the freedom that they had now. And his whole life, he had stayed away from them as his father had told him to do. But now, looking at Sansa, he thought that admitting she was wrong was brave. And while he still wanted his people safe, he had to admit, her determination and honesty was admirable. More than he would ever have expected from the southern, pampered princess he had taken her for.

“We are often selfish when we are protecting the ones we care about,” he relented.

“I have to find my sister,” Sansa stated firmly. “It is my fault she ran away. I have to tell her that I love her and that she has to come home. My father always told us when the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives. She needs me, no matter what she claims otherwise. And I need her home too.”

Jon nodded slowly before he sat down again. He picked up a piece of cheese while Sansa started to nibble delicately on her bread. He had never had a sibling, he had barely had any friends other than Ghost. He didn’t understand the bond that Sansa felt with her sister but he supposed if he had had siblings, he would want to protect them too.

“Alright,” he sighed. “We’ll leave as soon as we’re finished.”

***

_The lone wolf dies but the pack survives._

Arya sighed out into the night, her breath fogging before her. Her father had always told her and her siblings that quote but Arya felt that he had got it all wrong.

She was a lone wolf, whether she liked it or not. She could never go back or she would risk harming her family. She would have to survive alone. Sansa would understand eventually, she would have to.

Her sister would have her happy ending that she had always dreamed of. A future with the warmth of the sun on her skin and a handsome Lord on her arm, her half a dozen beautiful children running around her skirts.

Bran and Rickon would barely remember her either. They would grow to be good men. Bran would be a just King, like father was and like Robb should have been. Rickon would have his own keep and perhaps a wife able to tame his wildness.

The Starks didn’t need Arya. She just wished the reverse applied.

Without thinking, she had kept wandering further and further into the uncharted Northern territory. Winter followed her silently as she walked until all she could see for miles was snow-covered trees and mountains.

It was still swirling around her now as she finally stopped and observed around her. The winds whipped at her cloak and caused strands of her hair to fall loose of her ponytail and fall around her face. But Arya didn’t feel the cold at all.

She had no idea where she was. Beyond the Wildling camps, there weren’t many habitations in the far north. But that suited Arya just fine. With the ice wall that she had built, nobody would ever be able to find her.

She would start a new life, here in the frozen lands of the North.

“The lands of always winter,” she whispered to herself. “And I am its Queen.”

“Is that so?” a voice replied, sweet but cold.

Arya whipped around, ice sparking between her fingers on instinct. A laugh echoed around the trees and Arya’s eyes darted around her for a glimpse of her companion.

“Fear not child,” the voice said again. It was closer now, coming from behind her. Arya turned quickly, a flash of white and violet greeting her before a hand grasped her wrist and one last sentence penetrated her brain before the word went dark.

“Mother is here.”


End file.
